not so much turning the tables as flipping them violently
by astriferosity
Summary: Spain learns not to make any sort of bet with Romano, and Romano learns that sometimes, switching things up can be fun. Kink meme fill.


Spain's bottom lip is bitten raw.

Romano watches, leaning back against the table in front of him, as Spain squirms in his seat to relieve the tension. It's really a pretty sight. His eyes are unfocused, and his cheeks are a lovely shade of pink, and he's trembling just a little. "Look at you," Romano murmurs, a bit transfixed. "I bet everyone in here knew what you were doing, this whole time."

Spain squirms in his seat. "Roma, please..."

The rush of power this is giving him is exhilarating. It's Spain who's always in control, always reducing Romano to incoherence, always wielding the upper hand. "Please, what?"

"It's been an hour a-and," his voice breaks, briefly, "and a half."

"Oh, I know how long it's been."

"So take them out!"

Romano shakes his head and clicks his tongue, and the absolutely desperate look Spain is giving him is going right to his cock, and he plans to savor this moment as long as possible. "No."

"N-no?"

Romano stands up properly, looking down at him. "Part of the deal was that _I_ get to be in charge, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, but -"

"So tell me how it feels." Spain looks at him a little blankly, and Romano sighs. "The beads, moron."

"Oh," says Spain, but instead of an expression of understanding it comes out more like a breathy little moan. "You _know_ how they feel, you use them all the time!"

"Yeah, no shit." Romano can't take his eyes off Spain's body, the way he's squirming in his chair, even as he's trying to be derisive. "Roma," he says, in an imitation of Spain's voice, "you always get so desperate when we use these things. I know _I_ could last longer than that."

Spain whines softly, a strangled little noise from deep in his throat. "I-I think I was wrong."

"I think I was wrong," Romano repeats, and Spain's voice probably doesn't really sound like that, but he also doesn't actually care. Having Spain vulnerable in front of him feels surprisingly good, and right now he's going to savor it as much as he can. "I didn't ask you whether you were right, bastard, I asked you how it feels."

Spain spares a glance over at the door, probably checking that the meeting room is still locked, before he turns back to Romano. A moment of hesitation. "It...it feels good."

"Come on, you can give me more than that."

Spain bites his lip again. Romano wants to kiss that mouth later, taste the rawness of his skin, remember what he did to him today. "I can feel them moving around."

"Uh-huh."

"They keep hitting right - right there," he continues, and the look on his face is so fucking good. "They keep _vibrating_. It was...it was hard to keep a straight face like this."

"Oh, you didn't. I could see you biting your lip and squirming in your seat from all the way across the room."

"Come _on_, Romano."

Romano's hand is inching up along Spain's thigh - he's wearing a pair of cheap dress pants, thin material, and his erection is already making a tent in them. "Hm?" Romano says, faux-pleasantly, even though he's already hard enough for it to be distracting himself.

"The hotel is right around the corner," Spain responds breathlessly, his eyes on Romano's hand making its way up his leg.

"Look at you," says Romano, and the look Spain gives him is slightly more puzzled than usual. Romano leans into him, his hand moving up, ghosting over the bulge in his pants before settling on his hip. "You can't be seen like this."

Spain opens his mouth again, to protest, and Romano leans in and kisses him square on the mouth. He shuts up immediately. Spain is pushed further into the chair, and he moans low into Romano's mouth, and when they break apart Spain is breathless and flushed and heavy-eyed. "Let me take care of you, sì?"

"Oh," Spain whispers again, and Romano decides to interpret that as a sign of assent.

Romano moves his attention to Spain's neck - he never wears a tie, never bothers buttoning up all the way, which leaves him exposed. He presses a kiss to the soft skin below his jaw. "You look really good like this."

Spain tilts his head back, eyes fluttering almost-shut. "Like what?"

Romano has to search for the word. His thumb grazes over Spain's pulse, which is jumping in his throat. "Desperate," he says against Spain's collarbone, and Spain doesn't protest at all. His fingers move to undo the next button of Spain's shirt. He's flushed all the way down to his chest.

"Don't tease," Spain sighs as Romano's hands move down his sides.

Romano is half-straddling him, now, his hands grazing over his hips, sliding up his shirt and over the plane of his stomach. "Maybe if you ask nicely," he replies, and he's close enough to feel Spain shiver.

"Please?" Spain asks, and he sounds so fucking earnest. "Just. Let me come. Please. I'm, mm, sorry I doubted these things."

Romano can feel the tension leave Spain's body when he moves to unbuckle his belt, pulls his pants down his thighs, can hear him murmur something that sounds like a soft "thank God." Spain's erection is straining against the fabric of his boxers, a small wet spot where the head must be. Those go next.

Romano licks a stripe up his palm, and unceremoniously takes Spain's cock in his hand, thumb pressing against the head. Spain jerks in his seat, hips rocking up briefly into Romano's grip, and Romano starts to pump him slowly.

Spain twists underneath him, eyes screwing shut. "A-ahh.."

Romano's attention moves from the weight in his hand to Spain's face - he's always been noisy in bed, never been good at holding back, but right now he's letting out a litany of breathy little moans, and as Romano picks up the pace he squeezes the armrests of the chair and whines, "ohgodplease," and Romano can't help but indulge him.

The only warning Romano gets is a stutter of Spain's hips and a choked-off moan, and then Spain is gasping his name and coming into his hand and slumping blissful back into the chair, eyes closed and lips parted and cheeks red, his body still trembling a little with the aftershocks.

Romano has to just look at him for a moment, because with the blissed-out expression and the late-afternoon sun landing on him from the slats in the meeting room's blinds, he's really kind of gorgeous.

And when the moment passes, he wipes his hand off on the exposed part of the chair cushion, reaches under Spain, and pulls the anal beads out by the string. Spain shudders - overstimulated, probably - but goes right back to looking like he's on another planet. "Come on, bastard," Romano says affectionately, nudging his side.

Spain just makes an unintelligible noise, curls an arm loosely around him and mumbles, "Five more minutes."

Romano sighs, and rolls his eyes, but he doesn't move from his spot half in Spain's lap. He _does_ press his nose into Spain's neck, and ask, "You think we could do this again sometime?"

Spain just laughs and pulls him closer - and Romano decides to interpret that as a yes.


End file.
